


Clarity

by MoanDiary



Category: GLOW (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, bus ride musings, post-s2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-31 19:42:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15126542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoanDiary/pseuds/MoanDiary
Summary: The bus ride to Vegas forces Sam to take inventory. A feelings inventory. Even bitter old misanthropes have those, sometimes.





	Clarity

The bus ride to Vegas is long, long enough that within a few hours, a good portion of the girls have dozed off from the monotony of the desert rolling past. A few mismatched soft snores can be heard from the back of the bus. Yolanda and Arthie are talking to each other in low voices, their heads bent towards each other, smiling and making moon eyes. Cherry laughs quietly at something Keith says.

And Ruth’s head, lolling with the rocking motion of the bus, has come to rest on Sam’s shoulder.

He’s not one for sorting through and analyzing his feelings. Several therapists and couples counselors have told him as much in so many words over the past few decades. Fortunately he’s had more time to puzzle through how he feels about Ruth than he had for some his ex-wives. Still, clarity evades him.

She’s a true collaborator, he decides. Something every artist longs for. Someone whose vision complements his, who makes his work better. The work was what they shared, what brought them together and made them a team.

Then he thinks about sitting in the screening of _Gina the Machina_ , alone, and bracing himself for the inevitable heckling of a handful of teens who wouldn’t understand his vision. And the raw relief and gratitude when she’d appeared. At least one person to insulate him from the humiliation of watching his own film alone. She was a friend. Maybe his only friend.

He generally doesn’t do _friends_. In his experience, friends are just disappointments and betrayals waiting to happen. In Hollywood especially, they’re people waiting for you to fall so they can use your corpse as a stepping stone. Friends who are women? Forget about it. He has a bad habit of letting any warm feelings in his heart migrate to his dick, and that’s usually the end of that, one way or another.

But usually that happens because those women didn’t become intimately familiar with his bullshit and insecurity until _after_ he slept with them. Ruth knows about it, knows everything about him. She’s whip-smart and talented to boot. A born showman and a consummate nerd. She’s seen him at his worst and his best and still sticks around. Laughs at his bad jokes. Comes over for awkward family dinners with Justine.

Then there’s the thing he doesn’t think about. Her hands clutching his shoulders for balance as they swayed to a sappy teen love song. Her hair against his face. God, the way she _smelled_. Her huge eyes staring up at him.

He’s not afraid to admit it; she is beautiful. Even in her customary plain-jane clothes and bare face she looks better than most women. Fully dolled up as Zoya, she’s a terrifying knockout. A fetishist’s wet dream. _His_ wet dream on a couple embarrassing occasions.

And so what if he’d tried to kiss her? Who in their right mind wouldn’t? He looks down at the top of her curly brunette head where it rests on his shoulder. That fucking camera guy has the right idea. And the advantage of being twenty years younger than him. And not an asshole.

There’s the rub. He’s an asshole. She deserves someone who’s not. Especially after months of punishment and self-imposed loneliness because of one (or two) simple mistakes. Some light homewrecking. Sam has done much worse and paid less of a price. She deserves to be happy.

And yet. And yet. That doesn’t make him want her any less. Want to work with her any less. Want to be around her all the time any less. Which is a fucking pain in the ass, to say the least. But the psychopathic goblin in his chest he identifies as his heart is greedily happy Camera Guy is staying in LA, and Sam is not.

Sam gets to see her every day. See the delighted twinkle in her eye when she has an idea. Hear (and, regrettably, get) her endless dorky Old Hollywood movie references. Grab lunch with her. Dinner. Whatever stale assemblage of donuts and muffins and burnt coffee they’ll call “breakfast.” Watch her confront the gaudy nightmares of the Strip. Teach her how to count cards. And maybe he won’t be as much of an asshole. And maybe she’ll forget to call Camera Guy a couple times.

The bus goes over a particularly large pothole and she jerks awake, rubbing drowsily at one eye and lifting her head to peer out the window.

“Are we there yet?” She murmurs.

“Nah, still a few hours left to go.”

She simply hums in response and lets her head fall back on his shoulder, her eyes sliding shut, shifting to get more comfortable, one hand sliding around his arm, holding him to her like a pillow.

Once she settles again, he lets out a long breath. _I guess I love her,_ he thinks.

 _Fuck_.

**Author's Note:**

> Tragic that only one other person writes for this pairing, apparently. I couldn't help myself after season 2. Would really like these two dorks to kiss.


End file.
